


Ms. Black

by Alythia17



Series: Ms. Black [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First War with Voldemort, Hogwarts, Marauders, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Original Character(s), The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Young James Potter, Young Remus Lupin, Young Sirius Black, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29857566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alythia17/pseuds/Alythia17
Summary: Sirius Black's twin sister starts Hogwarts along with the rest of the Marauders.This is a James Potter fanfiction but there will be next to no romantic interactions during this book. This is a three book series so please be patient.
Relationships: Alice Longbottom/Frank Longbottom, Arabelle Black & Bellatrix LeStrange, Arabelle Black/James Potter, Lily Evans & Arabelle Black, Lily Evans & Marlene McKinnon, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Minerva McGonagall & Sirius Black, Regulus Black & Arabelle Black, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Remus Lupin & James Potter, Remus Lupin & Sirius Black, Sirius Black & Arabelle Black, Sirius Black & James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Ms. Black [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2195160
Kudos: 3





	Ms. Black

**Author's Note:**

> Follows most cannon except for Arabelle. I did create her but I don't own the Marauders or any of the Harry Potter Universe.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do ship jily, I just thought it would be fun to mess around with character relations.
> 
> Please don't copy to other websites. It will be on my Wattpad- Alythia17
> 
> I do not support J.K.R for all she has said.

The longer she stood there the worse the itching became. Her head was pounding. She could hear the blood thumping in her ears. Maybe it was the heat of the sun or the eyes of everyone in the room currently trained on her- she didn’t know. They were silently judging her, critiquing every feature that made her human. Of course, that’s what the aim was; make her seem less than.

Recently it had been worse. Her mother was getting restless, the timer running out quicker than she had expected. They were behind on training and the pile of books on her bed was slowly growing to the point of sleepless nights and major migraines. Her feet were constantly aching from the sheer amount of ballroom dancing whilst the collection of smashed china was near overflowing the cardboard box they were kept. It was safe to say she wasn’t exactly wife material just yet. And it was also safe to assume her mother was getting positively fed up.

“Yes, of course, Mr. Rosier. Dinner shall be served at no later than ten, next Monday.” The falsely sweet tone of her mother made her shiver. It was amazing how quickly she could put on a presenting smile, considering a few minutes prior she was screeching at her children and husband to brush down their garments.

Rosier smiled at her. It looked forced and pained, though she couldn’t blame him. If it were her, she wouldn’t exactly be excited for another meet-up either. He quickly collected his bowler hat from the coat peg beside the door and swiftly walked out with his wife and son. He didn’t wave, nor look back at them- just kept on walking. They all watched silently as the family of three reached the apparition point and disappeared with a loud crack.

The image of books popped back to the forefront of her mind. The owl should be coming in no less than two days; the amount of time she had to get through the pile before all hell broke loose. She physically deflated at the thought.

Walburga whipped around as soon as the door had closed. “All three of you, to bed. Now.”

And as those last words sunk into her brain, the rest of the tension oozed out into the air. The three of them hurriedly bowed and curtsied to their parents and scurried towards to staircase before their mother could say anything more. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

“Oh, and Arabelle, dear.” All trace of kindness had left her tone. Pure hatred was all that was left, and it sent shivers down her spine. “You know what you need to do.” For such an innocent task, she made it sound quite sinister. Of course, the punishment wasn’t as innocent as reading some books, but it was better than scrubbing the ballroom floor.

As soon as she had turned the corner, Arabelle tugged at her braid, letting her curls fall loose around her shoulders. She sighed as some of her headache ebbed away, threading her hand through a few tangled strands. Looking over her shoulder, she reached down and slipped off the heels that were echoing annoyingly loud throughout the cold passageway.

Sirius was stood at the end, waiting for her. From the distance, she couldn’t make out the emotions displayed across his face- whether he was scared, angry, sad. Her bare feet pounded against the stone as she broke into a run, determined to get back to the room before Kreacher would come and give her more novels to read. The closer Arabelle got, the colder the passageway became.

Her breaths began to form in visible puffs of air. Her toes were tingling, and the tips of her ears were no doubt turning red.

When she reached Sirius, he was leaning against one of the walls beside a pair of closed drapes. Behind many of those drapes were portraits of old ancestors that would begin lecturing them on their posture, or how to drink tea in the eighteen hundreds. Usually, it took multiple people to close one off after it had been opened, but sometimes they were lucky enough to get a tapestry instead.

“I can’t decide whether that went well or…” Sirius said once they began walking down another corridor.

“I would say it went better. She didn’t shout at us afterward.”

“And Reg didn’t bring the whole table down with him, this time.” Arabelle snorted in a way that her mother would not approve.

“Honestly, how did he even do that?”

They turned left into a carpeted room, passing through it and up another flight of stairs. By this point, all the portraits were asleep or flicking off their bedside lamps, grumbling goodnights to each other.

“Must be father’s genetics. Merlin knows you wouldn’t find anyone on mother’s side of the family falling on their face.”

Sirius ran his hand over his head. There was hair there- not as much as she knew he would’ve liked- but still hair. She saw him cast longing glances over at her, wishing he were allowed it that long and not be shamed for it. One time she’d even tried to cut her own and make a wig out of it for him. He appreciated the thought, but their mother had caught Arabelle red-handed with a pair of muggle scissors after Kreacher had ratted them out.

By the time they had gotten back to their rooms, the sky was completely black, and the only illumination was the few candles around the room. Rain splattered against the windowpanes, a full moon peeking above stormy clouds and the silhouette of a forest behind the neighborhood.

Arabelle drew her curtains shut. Kreacher had already came and locked the doors for the night, which meant no sneaking out or visiting the house-elves. She sat at the end of her bed and glanced at the books on her nightstand, picking the first one up and flicking to the first page. The binding was cracked, and the corners were peeling. Stains marked the parchment in patterns, dancing around the words. Some letters were smudged, the ink leaking through to the other side. Though thoroughly worn out, it was still readable.

‘ _At the age of eleven, all magical folk within the British borders would attend Hogwarts, a school for witchcraft and wizardry. There they would begin to learn the four main academic subjects of the first year: Potions, Charms, Transfiguration, and Flight. During these lessons, the students would partake in practical activities involving the use of a wand._ ’

Arabelle flipped to the next chapter.

‘ _In the main hall of Hogwarts, four tables are settled amongst the stone. These tables belong to the school’s houses, each reflecting the student’s personality. Hufflepuff; the honest and trustworthy, Ravenclaw; the wise and witty, Slytherin; the sly and cunning, and Gryffindor; the brave and loyal. The founders of these houses were the four founders of the school: Helga Hufflepuff, Rowena Ravenclaw, Salazar Slytherin, and Godric Gryffindor. The four founders united and accepted all students with even an ounce of magical blood in their body._ ’

And the next.

‘ _One of the main features of the Great Hall is the ceiling of which reflects the current weather in the real world, though does not retain all features. For instance, if it is raining, the sky will reflect as such but no water should fall upon the tables._

‘ _To illuminate, the hall is lit with dozens of floating candles, each charmed by Rowena Ravenclaw herself. Many have tried and failed to destroy this carefully constructed charm, though it seems it is too strong to be meddled with._

‘ _Prior to the three founder’s deaths, they formed a hat. This hat was no ordinary hat, as it carried the legacy and upmost important job of the sorting, a ceremony held at the start-of-year feast for new students.’_

The rain was now battering against the window. The wind was howling and screaming from outside, causing a small draft to appear underneath a floorboard in her room. Arabelle swung her legs over the side of her bed and crouched down to observe. There was a hole in between the brick and floor.

Arabelle stood up and bustled about in her jewelry box until she found the pointy, plastic pin she was looking for and walking back to the hole. She rolled down her dress sleeve, so it was covering her fist, and brushed some dust away from the skirting board around it. Grabbing the pin, she pushed it directly into the hole and watched as it slid perfectly inside, effectively stopping the draft.

When she turned back around, what she didn’t expect was the wrinkly, old house-elf to be watching her. His beady eyes were trained on her still-crouched figure, a grimace-like smile appearing when she jumped back into the wall. Her palm went straight to her chest, feeling the rapidly beating pulse and rush of adrenaline. “Kreacher.” She breathed.

“Mistress Black requires Kreacher to deliver this letter to Miss Black.”

He held out a cream-coloured envelope with a crimson, wax seal. She took it off him and he disappeared with a pop. Flipping the letter over in her hands, it didn’t look to be anything special. Of course, she’d heard about people getting their Hogwarts letters and knew hers would be arriving sometime soon, but the tales would always be delivered with details off; ‘My letter was pure gold’ or ‘Mine was delivered by Albus Dumbledore, himself’. Arabelle neither cared whether it was gold or delivered by the headmaster. All she wanted was confirmation that she wasn’t a squib.

_Ms. A. Black._

_The Third-floor Bedroom on the Right._

_12\. Grimmauld Place_

_London Borough of Islington_

_London_

Arabelle let a smile pass over her features. It was true then- the letters were so oddly specific that it felt as if Dumbledore knew everything about everyone. Of course, that could quite possibly be true, but a lot of people weren’t going to accept that. And Dumbledore himself, being the wise man he is, would definitely not admit it out loud to the Wizarding World.

She quickly turned the envelope back over and tore open the seal.

Inside was a folded piece of aging parchment. Printed onto that was the Hogwarts crest- she knew that much from visiting the Ministry of Magic once or twice with her father. Below the crest were a few lines of cursive scribbles, obviously written in a hurry as though this letter wasn’t a life-changer.

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

_Dear Ms Black._

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Arabelle threw the letter across the room onto her bed. Her mind was overflowing, images of the ancient school flashing before her eyes. When she blinked, the only things she saw were the grounds or the greenhouses. Sometimes it was even the Quidditch pitch. She was going to Hogwarts! After eleven long years of watching people older than her disappear every year, she was finally going to join them.

Quickly, she jumped back onto her bed and surveyed every word on the parchment, examining every curl of a ‘g’ or the thickness of the ink from where the person writing had re-dipped their quill.

_Please find an enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment that can be purchased at Diagon Alley. Students will be required to report to the Chamber of Reception upon arrival. Term begins September 1st. We await your owl no later than July 31st. To avoid detection by muggles, please use the entrance located at Kings Cross Station, Downtown London, on Platform 9 ¾. We look forward to having you at our school._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_

It took all her willpower not to scream. Her whole being was buzzing with newfound energy. The book she had been reading was thrown to the side, cover facing up and wide open against her duvet. Any trace of sleep had long since disappeared and now all she wanted to do was pack her bags and leave for Kings Cross.

Unfortunately, that would have to wait for another two days. The burst of energy that came with the arrival of the letter was simmering down a bit, the reality that she wouldn’t see her younger brother for almost a year shining through. He would be fine. Hopefully, their mother would find a sudden soft side to herself now that the two troublemakers had gone.

The rain had calmed a bit, though still going strong. Its soft _pitter-patter_ against the window began to soothe the sudden onslaught of nerves that overwhelmed the young girl. What if the teachers didn’t like her? What if they made a mistake, and she really was a squib? Her mother would disown her- burn her off the Black family tapestry. She would make her watch as the carefully sewn thread went up in flames, distorting the face that showed her heritage to this family.

Arabelle quietly crept under her covers, enveloping herself in the warmth. She watched the water droplets slide down the glass in zig-zagged lines, connecting together like dot-to-dot, and then separating into different paths. It came in waves, the rain. A sudden blast of wind would cause all the droplets to collide with the window, splattering it in different directions and ruining any pathways the previous water had created.

Slowly, she let her eyes close, enjoying the warmth of her own bed and the sound of the weather outside.


End file.
